Conclave

Marisa shuffled her feet, hesitating, and scrutinized herself in the bathroom mirror. It still seemed sort of miraculous that she had managed to get into the regional governmental office building, an imposing 19th century building that now seemed out of place among crammed-together storefronts filled with music stores, ethnic groceries, and renegade theater companies, not to mention the construction that had ripped open the road in front of the administrative building. Marisa herself felt like she should feel out of place, an American Democrat on her way to interview regional representatives of the right-wing Front National party, and yet there was something in being a young American sociologist that stripped away any misgivings. In fact she felt a rush of excitement as she checked her hair in the mirror and smoothed her blouse: her research supervisor didn’t know she had taken on this project and if she had known she would have objected, out of her own social Democratic commitments to rejecting fascism wholesale. But after months of researching the legacy of the wartime Resistance to Hitler and Petain, Marisa felt like she was meeting the enemy to get to know them and to understand them, in order to better overturn them. The sort of double entendre of this morning’s conclave, then, revitalized her, and reminded herself of her own self’s deepest resilience.

Advertisements
Previous Post
Next Post
Leave a comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: